


Ugly Blankets and Trailer Sex

by Castalle



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Drug Use, Drunk Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalle/pseuds/Castalle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael knew he was going to regret this, but Trevor was very persuasive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Blankets and Trailer Sex

**Author's Note:**

> So, here this is.

“I'm not sleeping on that disgusting couch, T.” Michael groaned, rubbing his eyes as he paced back and forth in the small trailer. Trevor watched him, sitting on his kitchen counter, shrugging after Michael had his say.

“Sorry I can't find a nicer place for your fat ass, _M_ , but you can sleep outside so some lonely hobo can finally find himself a wife?” he asked, leaning forward. He sneered at the other man, who had paused, giving him a stern faced frown.

“Oh what? What does that hurt your feelings? Well sorry I didn't sell my soul for a three bedroom two bath!” he snapped, throwing his hands up in the air. Michael looked away, waving a hand in the air dismissively.

“Fine, whatever.” he relented, “I'm tired, I don't have time for this shit.”

He turned, tugging off his jacket, and then slid off his shoes, grimacing when he felt the dirty, crusty carpet beneath his socks. The stained, unwashed blanket that had obviously been pilfered from a motel stank of blood and other bodily fluids – but it was better than nothing.

Michael winced as he sat down – it was good to be more active now but he was starting to feel his age, and it was a bit too sobering for his liking. Trevor paced around the tiny kitchen, grabbing several beers out of his fridge and stumbling off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

A long sigh exited through Michael's lips, and he raised his eyes – giving a firm glare at the light switch which lay across the trailer. With a grimace and huff he stood himself up and ambled over, shutting the lights off and then blindly making his way back over to the couch. A stubbed toe and a curse preceded his crash down to the couch, limbs splaying out as far as they could go without dragging him off the side. He buried his face in the blanket, breathing in the distinct stench of ammonia and old blood – reminding him of just how glad he was to be back in the game.

 

* * *

 

Trevor shoved Michael's legs out of the way to make room for himself on the small couch. The other awoke quickly, shooting a glare at Trevor, red circles and puffiness still forcing his eyes mostly shut still.

“Trevor – what-” he mumbled numbly, limbs heavy as he tried to sit up.

“Shut the fuck up.” the other muttered, bringing a small pipe up to his lips and lighting it.

“Man – what, why are you getting high it's like...” Michael glanced out one of the browning windows, squinting. “What time is it?”

“You're one to talk.” Trevor snorted, leaning back on the couch, closing his eyes and setting the pipe down. “Shit.”

Michael scoffed, curling his legs up and away from Trevor as best he could. He began to doze off again and had nearly fallen back into a comfortable sleep when it was interrupted.

“Hey...remember when we used to get real high and do crazy shit?”

“I try to forget.” Michael responded, voice muffled by the blanket.

“You've gotten so boring, Jesus how do you even function?!” Trevor laughed, picking up the small glass pipe again. After he took his second hit he leaned to his left, crawling over the other. “And in proper Michael fashion, you were all about the lovin' and leavin'. Almost made me cry, broke my heart!”

“Didn't break nothing of yours Trevor.” Michael retorted, starting to sit up to push the other away.

“Woah cowboy, no need to get all defensive.” Trevor said quietly, straddling Michael. “You act like you didn't enjoy yourself! Don't you fucking pretend!”

“Jesus, Trev, what – is this the meth or something?” Michael asked, forcing himself to sit up, coming face to face with the other man now.

“C'mon, what, not up for a ride?” Trevor asked, thrusting his hips forward, directly over Michael's lap. Michael grunted, bringing a hand up and shoving Trevor back off of him and on to the couch. He lay there for a while as Trevor took another hit, contemplating his options at this point. What options did he have at all? He knew that if he ignored Trevor enough that the other man would grow bored of him and find something else to do. On the other hand, Trevor would just bring it up later and he would rather just get it over with. What was 10 minutes of awkward, pathetic sex compared to a half hour of Trevor's whining a week from now.

“Shit...” he whispered, then brought up a hand, giving Trevor a rough backhand to his side, getting his attention. “Get me something strong, not that shitty beer, but something really good. Otherwise you can just deal with the blue balls because I'm not up for this shit sober.”

Grumbling and curses followed Trevor around as he wandered around the trailer, searching for something that the exceedingly pretentious house guest would find acceptable.

“Uuhh!” 20 pounds of boxed wine was dropped on Michael's gut, the edges of the box slightly torn from being stuffed away in a corner for more than a few months.

“Drink up fatty, I want to go for a ride!” Trevor shouted, slamming his bedroom door shut. Muffled muttering about stuck up whales passed through the door while Michael pulled out the plastic pouch full of sweet, cheap wine. The rusting knife that had been laying abandoned on the table took it's time to saw through the tubing that was attached to the wine pouch. Once it was broken Michael quickly put the tube in his mouth, lifting the pouch over his head. He gulped down the inexpensive but potent alcohol, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath – it went down easier than most of his preferred drinks.

Once his stomach began to hurt from all the liquid he knew it was time to stop, only a few ounces of wine remaining. He rested a hand on his stomach and vocalized the misery caused by a stretched gut, tapping his foot rapidly as the alcohol took its time to take effect. Once he began feeling himself actually wanting to join Trevor in bed he knew it was time to lift himself off of the couch and stumble through the trailer to the other man's room, pushing the door open and sighing at the other man.

Trevor was impatiently flipping through a magazine, clothes discarded in the corner.

“God, fucking finally!” he exclaimed, standing and heading over to Michael. He grabbed the inebriated man and dragged him over to the bed, leveraging his weight to throw Michael onto the ratty covers.

“Shit man hold on, I gotta- oh, well fucking fine.” Trevor was already working at the zipper and buttons to Michael's pants and shirt, tugging the expensive clothing away. Michael made a sound of protest when he heard a tear as his shirt was being yanked away but insult was added to injury when the shirt was tossed into a puddle of liquid from unknown origin in the corner.

Trevor was on him like an animal, biting at his shoulder and squeezing his sides, straddling the larger man and resting his weight down on top of him.

“God,” Trevor laughed, scooting back to pull off Michael's boxers. “You've really turned into a whale.”

He looked up to search for a response but Michael had brought his wrist up and over his eyes, looking tired and beleaguered. Trevor growled and him, shoving his thighs apart and lifting his hips up. He shoved himself into Michael without warning or any sort of indication, earning him a loud shout that made his face lighten up.

“Jesus – fuck!”

“What's wrong Michael, don't like to FIB dry dock?” he asked, chuckling as he began a lazy rhythm. Michael just waved a hand at him angrily, spreading his legs further and bringing his knees up a bit to try and find a more comfortable position. Trevor had his hands on him soon after, and Michael let out a long sigh as he began to relax.

“There we go, there we go...” Trevor said quietly, bringing his free hand up and resting it on Michael's side, grabbing the flesh there in his hand tightly. Michael rolled his eyes as Trevor gave the fatty skin a few squeezes, laughing and snickering. Finally he caught Michael's expression and his grin dropped away, and he leaned back forward, biting at Michael's neck, tugging and nipping at the skin.

“Hurt your feelings?” he asked quietly, pausing in his thrusts to lean up and give Michael a bite on the lip. His partner was silent throughout, the alcohol hitting him harder as time went on. Trevor didn't attempt to pry any further vocalizing from him, and went about seeing to his own pleasure.

He'd been with enough men before, but out of all those who performed better than Michael, none of them were this much fun. He watched Michael the entire time, soaking in the different expressions he made, noting what was new and what was the same from nine years ago.

Michael still would grit his teeth every couple of seconds, wincing, looking like he was in pain – Trevor lingered on the thought that because of his age and shape he was in that might not be too far from the truth.

Michael's brows would press up in an expression that was bordering on distress, but Trevor knew better, and answered with increasing roughness. His eyes were closed, a hand brought up over his eyes once more. That was new, and Trevor didn't like it, shoving Michael's hand away and giving his side a tight squeeze.

“Look at me, you fuck – am I not good enough to even fucking take the time to look at?” he snapped. Michael's reaction was a look of annoyance but he kept his eyes open – taking to staring at the ceiling instead.

“God you're pathetic.”

Michael gave a drunken, clumsy wave of his hand.

As they went on Michael gained a bit of enthusiasm, as much as he could muster at this level of inebriation. He pressed his arms to the bed, Trevor halting and grunting in surprise as Michael pushed them both further back towards the wall at the end of the bed. He sat up against it, propping several pillows behind and beneath himself so his entire weight wasn't on Trevor, who had leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed a syringe.

Michael eyed it suspiciously, growing annoyed and looking back at Trevor.

“Not – don't do that now.” he slurred.

“Take a hit, come on.”

Michael shook his head, pushing Trevor's hand away.

“You think you're above this?”

Michael paused at Trevor's words, glancing to the side as a sharp bite of shame began gnawing at him. Part of him wanted to be the man he'd been 10 years ago, part of him wanted to tell Trevor to fuck off. Ultimately the choices available were limited and the pressure was on to perform. Even if it was for Trevor, of all people. He furrowed his brows as he tried to think of any other options to Trevor's demand, giving a deceptively indifferent sigh.

He raised his arm after a few moments of hesitance, letting Trevor take it in one hand while he felt around for the vein with the other. Michael looked away when the needle grew close to his skin, the fear of such a tiny thing still pervading even through intoxication.

It took a minute, maybe less, and whatever it was it wasn't meth. Michael groaned, Trevor taking that as a sign to get rougher with him. His back pain, joint aches, and sore legs felt light and painless – like he was young for a few minutes again. The other man said something but he couldn't comprehend it, the room was spinning and somehow he was still going, or maybe he was imagining it.

Trevor watched Michael's eyes flutter as he tried to gain his bearings, but wasn't going to wait around for the larger man to come off his high. He needed to finish up, there were other things he needed to do today. Trevor began to thrust roughly up into the other man, Michael having a delayed but rewarding reaction.

“God, Trevor – fuck.” he whispered, eyes shifting back and forth. Trevor leaned up against him, quickening until he was sure he couldn't keep up the pace he was at for too much longer. Michael panted, trying to chase the hint of a climax that was eluding him – the only way to get there was to match Trevor's movements and he didn't know if he had the stamina. However he was a stubborn man and he grit his teeth, hissing out a sharp breath and doing what he could.

“Yes, fuck!” Trevor shouted, looking at Michael. The two briefly locked eyes for a moment but Michael broke it quickly, Trevor squinting and looking upwards. Michael's felt discomfort for only a moment as he gazed at the other, Trevor biting his bottom lip and lowering his head. He let out a loud groan and grabbed Michael's sides, giving a series of rough, slow thrusts as he finished.

Trevor was quick to look back up at Michael, bringing a hand up to the back of Michael's head to prevent it from knocking back against the wall when he began to shift about. He held it there and watched, grimacing as Michael's legs tightened around his torso. Michael's brows furrowed, lips parting as he leaned his head back, but Trevor made sure not too far. He let out a cascade of sharp curses mixed along with his hips bucking upwards. Trevor was sure to get in a few more rough thrusts just to ride off the last of his orgasm. The sound Michael made was the same as Trevor remembered it, but now, seeing Michael in the state he was in, it was twice as gratifying.

After Michael calmed and his legs slid down to the bed, Trevor carefully pulled out and brought the other down from his sitting position. Michael's eyes were just barely open, the man panting and sweating as if he'd just run a marathon. Trevor leaned forward to examine his pupils, then slid off the bed. As Michael tried to stay awake through a mix of hard drugs and alcohol, Trevor went about finding his pants and toiling around the small trailer, grabbing himself a drink.

He switched off the lights in the trailer, the ambient sunlight more than enough. After distracting himself for a few minutes he ran out of things to pretend were more important and returned to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, leaning against it and watching Michael, sipping his beer until it was finished. Discarding the bottle on to the floor, he walked over and pulled the thin cover up over Michael's waist.

“Jesus Christ.” he muttered, looking down at the man shaped mess that was nearly blacked out on his bed. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity, not a large one, barely recognizable, but present. He sat down on the bed beside the other, leaning back until he was laying side by side with Michael. He brought an arm around him, leaning in and pressing his face against Michael's shoulder. The man still smelled of cologne, a subtle scent at just the right amount. Trevor had no doubt that Michael could crawl through a sewer and still smell like a bottle of overpriced whale vomit, thanks to the Los Santos lifestyle.

But, he reminded himself, it was still Michael. Somewhere under the flab and the ugly suits was still the man he'd considered his best friend. Michael stirred, trying to sit up, feeling around on the bed.

“Shh.” Trevor reached over, taking Michael's wrist and pulling it back to rest on the man's stomach. “What are friends for, huh?”

Michael turned his head to give Trevor an unfocused glance, mumbling something that sounded like 'fuck you' but Trevor couldn't be entirely sure. The way Michael slurred it could have been a number of things.

“Calm down sugar tits.” he said, closing his eyes and raising a leg up to wrap around Michael's lower body. “You'll feel better when you wake up.”


End file.
